“All the same. There are logistics here. You’re not going to send me out all unprepared and un-logistics-ed.”

I’d thought the logistics thing would be a winner. But he seemed less excited by it than I’d hoped. “Very well. What information do you think is pertinent?”

“I don’t know.” Way to put me on the spot, Oliver. “Who’s going to be there?”

“Well, my parents, obviously—David and Miriam. He’s in accountancy. My mother used to be a fellow of the LSE but gave it up when she had me.”

This wasn’t helping. “You told me that when we first met.”

“We can’t all be the children of infamous rock legends.”

“No, I know. But, like, who are they? Do they have any interests? Or, y’know, personality traits?”

“Lucien”—great, now he sounded borderline narked—“they’re my parents. My father’s a keen golfer. And my mother does a lot of charitable work.”

My heart sank. I was upsetting Oliver and this already sounded awful—but I’d gone too far to back out of either the event or the conversation. “What about your brother? Is your brother coming?”

“Yes. Christopher will be there.” He sighed. “As will Mia. I believe they’re flying in from Mozambique.”

“You…” Here’s hoping I didn’t make it worse “You don’t seem entirely happy about that.”

“My brother is very…accomplished. It makes me feel self-conscious.”

“You’re accomplished,” I pointed out. “You’re a fucking barrister.”

“Yes, but I don’t go into war zones and save lives.”

“You make sure that people get fair representation in court when they wouldn’t otherwise.”

“You see? Even you can’t make it sound glamorous.”

“That’s because I’m not you. When you talk about it, your eyes all light up, and you make it seem like the most important thing in the world. And then I want to do you right there.”

He blushed. “Please tell me you won’t say anything like that at the party.”

“Are you kidding? That’s exactly the sort of thing I’m planning to say at the party. My opening line is going to be ‘Hello Miriam, I’m Luc, I really enjoy doing your son.’” I rolled my eyes. “I know how to behave in polite company, Oliver.”

“Forgive me, I’m tired. It’s getting late, Lucien, and I’m in court tomorrow.”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m being weird and keeping you awake.”

Despite the mess we’d made—or probably I’d made—of the pillow talk, Oliver wrapped me up and held me like he always did. So I guess we were okay? Except I still felt kind of unsettled, and I wasn’t sure why or where it was coming from. Much less what to do about it. And maybe the problem was that there wasn’t a problem, and I was just so not used to that, my brain was trying to make one for me.

Fuck you, brain.

I nestled closer to my immaculate vegetarian lawyer and told myself to sleep.

Chapter 44

When Oliver had said his parents lived in Milton Keynes, I’d assumed that they, well, lived in a house in Milton Keynes. Not in a bijou mansionette so far on the outskirts of town that it was surrounded by rolling countryside as far as the eye could see.

Thanks to Oliver’s crippling fear of being late, we’d shown up way early and had to sit around in the car for about forty-five minutes in order to arrive at anything like an appropriate time. And I was super mature about it and didn’t tell anyone I’d told them so.

But, eventually, we were in a back garden that was just small enough not to qualify as “grounds” but still big enough to hold an absurdly overattended party in. There was bunting, with a tasteful ruby theme, and one of those big fancy tents, to say nothing of waitstaff with trays of champagne and canapes (none of which were vol-au-vents). The booze was clearly expensive, but on that perfectly chosen borderline between noticeable and showy. My tie already felt too tight.

Miriam and David Blackwood looked exactly like you’d expect a couple called Miriam and David Blackwood to look. Which was to say kind of like if the Tesco Finest range did people: basically exactly the same as everyone else, but with a faint air of being slightly better. I reached for Oliver’s hand, but somehow missed it, as we trooped over the grass to where his parents were chatting pleasantly to a small knot of people in their late fifties and early sixties.

“Happy anniversary,” he said, kissing his mother on the cheek and shaking his father by the hand.

“Oliver.” Miriam straightened his tie. “We’re so glad you could come.” She turned to one of the other guests. “He’s been having such a hard time at work lately, we were worried he wouldn’t be able to make it.”

Oliver shifted slightly at my side. “Work’s been fine, Mother.”

“Oh, darling, I’m sure you’re coping very well. I’m just concerned.” Again, a glance to someone else. “He’s not like his brother, you know. Christopher thrives under pressure.”

“I understand, but I’m all right, really.” Oliver didn’t quite push me forward but didn’t quite not. “This is my boyfriend, Lucien O’Donnell.”

“Oliver’s gay,” Oliver’s father explained helpfully to the group.

I shot Oliver a surprised look. “Are you? You never told me.”

I’d say my attempt at humour had fallen flat but that suggested it had somewhere to fall from.

“And what is it you do, Lucien?” asked Miriam after an uncomfortably long pause.

“I work for a charity that’s trying to save the dung beetle.”

“Well”—from the painfully jovial tone I suspected this comment was coming from an uncle—“at least you’re not another bloody lawyer.”

Miriam subjected the speaker to a cool glance. “Now, now, Jim. Oliver works very hard and we can’t all be doctors.”

“Works hard putting criminals back on the streets.” David’s smile said he was joking. His eyes said he wasn’t.

I opened my mouth to protest, but then remembered that I was here to be nice and that—having seen him do it before—Oliver could do a much better job defending his profession than I ever could.

“Is Christopher here yet?” he asked. “I should probably say hello to him.”

“He’s inside with the wife getting changed.” David jerked his thumb towards the house. “They’ve been travelling all day.”